


Idolatry

by bactaqueen



Category: AFI
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunter’s drunk and Billy wants to fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idolatry

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people or events is entirely coincidental. 
> 
> Author's Note: Originally posted January 2006.

Hunter stands at the curb in front of the lobby doors, swaying gently from the breeze and the drink, searching the garishly-lit night for one of the hideous cabs that always seem to be on hand when he doesn’t need them. Maybe I should have had the bartender call a cab. He smiles. Maybe I should have waited until I got back to my own hotel to drink. He laughs. Drink! He can still taste the beer from earlier in the evening and the harder liquor from the bar just a few minutes ago. It’s settled in him, spread through him; he feels warm, loose. Hunter tips his head back and closes his eyes. The breeze ruffles his hair and he wants to laugh again, so he does. This is cool. Pleasantly warmed, no longer stressed, and reeling from the unbridled and guiltless enjoyment of one aging idol in all of his guilty-pleasure glory, Hunter feels good.  
  
In fact, he feels good enough to dance. So he does. Shuffling his feet, he dances to the song in his head.  _More, more, more!_  He turns and catches sight of his reflection in the glass of the doors and he sneers. He sees Billy Idol there. He likes it.   
  
The throaty laughter surprises him and Hunter spins too quickly. The world goes fuzzy for a moment, but when his bleary eyes focus through the neon-streaked night, he finds…  
  
Billy Idol with a wide grin plastered to his face and standing right in front of him.  
  
Hey, cool. “Hey, cool.” Hunter grins back.  
  
“You do a great me, man.” Billy’s good-humored expression doesn’t falter and his hands shift in the pockets of his leather jacket. He wobbles slightly, as if the ground is unsteady or the breeze too hard or…   
  
Hunter focuses on Billy’s face and realizes that he has the slightly sloppy look of a man who’s had a few drinks and maybe a few too many. His grin widens and he doesn’t think of how deranged he looks.  _I’m drunk, he’s drunk, we’re all drunk!_  The laughter bubbles up and spills out before he can stop it, and then he’s bowing with a flourish.   
  
“Thank you.”  
  
The shift of his weight causes him to lose his balance and he stumbles forward slightly. Billy’s hands shoot out to steady him; a moment later, the two of them are leaning against each other. The night is warm, but Billy’s body is warmer.  
  
Billy slides an arm around Hunter. “Hey, man… You need a ride?”  
  
You. Hunter laughs at himself and nods as he leans into Billy. “Yeah.” He looks around and gives Billy a comical grin. “I can’t seem to get a cab.”  
  
A long black limousine pulls to the curb before them. No one gets out of the driver’s side, but Billy steers Hunter toward the rear passenger door, anyway. Together, they stumble a little; as one, they reach for the handle. Hands collide and heads bump and men laugh like boys, then Hunter gets his fingers wrapped around the handle and pulls the door open. The two men fall in. Hunter starts crawling for the other end of the seat as Billy slams the door shut.  
  
Hunter rolls and pushes himself into the corner as the car lurches away from the curb. Billy presses close with the lack of personal boundaries characteristic of someone who has spent a great deal of time in the public eye. Hunter just grins and lets his eyes roam over Billy, taking in the (thinning) peroxide-blond coif, the lines of age at brow and mouth, the bright eyes that glitter drunkenly and mischievously… I hope I look that good at his age. A frown twists Hunter’s lips. Hey, how old is he, anyway?  
  
Before he can give the thought any consideration, the question is out. “Hey, how old are you, anyway?”  
  
A grin splits Billy’s lips. “Fifty.” He leans forward, draping himself over Hunter’s lap, and reaches for the small refrigerator waiting in the corner. “Beer?”   
  
Hunter’s eyes widen.  _Yeah!_  “Yeah!”  
  
The bottle Billy offers is green; Hunter takes it happily and twists off the metal cap. The golden, salty-bitter taste of the bear floods his mouth and he wants to laugh. He’s a fun drunk and he knows it. He always has been. Hunter takes a moment to enjoy the feel and flavor of the beer, then lowers the bottle and gives Billy his full attention.   
  
“By the way, great show tonight.”  
  
Billy presents his trademark sneer. He takes a swig of his own beer and watches Hunter the whole time. “Yeah? You were there?”  
  
Hunter wants to dance, but sitting doesn’t make that easy, so he settles for wiggling. His face is starting to hurt since the grin hasn’t left it. Pride rises and spills out as, “You’re the reason I’m in Las Vegas! I couldn’t get to the show in L.A. ‘cause of my recording schedule. But, man, I made this one!” And now you’re giving me a ride home! Hunter laughs loudly. “And now you’re giving me a ride home!”  
  
Billy slides closer. “You like to ride?”  
  
The beer in his hand is conspicuously close to the hand resting on his leg. Hunter stares down and notes, suddenly, that he’s half-hard. Huh. Cool. His lips twist into a smirk and he says, “Yeah.” A beat later, he adds, “Well, I like to be ridden.” The context of the conversation isn’t lost on him even in his drunken state. Does that even makes sense with a guy?  
  
“Good man,” Billy says gruffly.  
  
And then Hunter’s pants are open and his cock is in Billy Idol’s mouth.  
  
Hunter hisses loudly.  _Oh, wow… Yeah!_  
  
Billy bobs his head and sucks hard with each stroke. Hunter slides his fingers through the brittle peroxide-treated tangle. Muscles move under his hand and wet sucking sounds fill the otherwise silent cabin. Hunter’s head falls back as his fingers convulse around the slender neck of the beer bottle. He’s good at this…  
  
“You’re good at this,” he tells the streaky darkness in the back of the limo.  
  
Billy only hums.  
  
The car slows; Hunter is jolted away from the door and Billy is dislodged. He sits up and wipes at his mouth, then turns his eyes to Hunter’s. “You’re coming up to my room, yeah?”  
  
 _Yeah!_  “Yeah!”  
  
None too gently, Billy shoves Hunter’s cock back inside his pants. “All right then.” Even his voice is rough.  
  
Billy turns away and slides to the other end of the seat, opens the door, and kicks his way out. Thoughtlessly, Hunter follows; his entire focus is the narrow ass in the tight pants—leather?—leading him through the foyer and across the lobby. He seems rushed, but it doesn’t keep him from stopping to sign autographs for the group of forty-something women in tight shirts and short skirts. Hunter pauses a few yards away, near an ugly plastic plant, and remembers the beer in his hand. Idly, he takes a swig and scans the lobby.  
  
 _I wanna be here in twenty years._  His gaze slides back to Billy where he stands with a woman on each arm and his sneering smile in place. Hunter snorts and takes another sip of his beer. A smile blossoms on his own face and he stands a little straighter.  _I’m gonna fuck Billy Idol!_  The voice in his head is a drunken sing-song, taunting the women. He’s absurdly proud of himself for not saying that aloud.  
  
Alone, he wanders toward the elevators. There are mirrors here, and he snickers at his warped and golden reflection. Billy is a narcissist. He sighs and sips his beer again, glancing petulantly over his shoulder. This is taking too long… He sighs again and turns back toward the mirrors.  
  
Billy is there, smirking knowingly at him. “Ready to go?”  
  
Hunter glances down at himself and the telltale bulge in his pants.  _Duh._  “Duh.” He raises his head and rolls his eyes.   
  
Laughing, Billy hits the button and calls the elevator. Inside, Hunter takes the corner opposite Billy. He regards the older man over the body of his beer bottle as he drinks; his eyes stray to Billy’s arm and then to his shoulders and down. After selecting the button for their floor, Billy turns to face him and Hunter is well aware that he’s being looked over. He imitates the look on Billy’s face. As soon as he thinks he has the upper hand, though, Billy proves he doesn’t. With his eyes trained on Hunter’s face, he lowers a hand to his crotch and rubs lewdly.  
  
Hunter groans. He’s twelve again, staring at the poster on the back of his bedroom door, seeing that sneering face as he jerks his young self off.   
  
The elevator bells go off and the doors open. Smirking wickedly, Billy starts out and down the hallway. “Come on.”  
  
The doors begin to slide shut and Hunter scrambles out, sucking the last of the beer from his bottle. He half-runs to catch up to Billy and stumbles a little when he’s near enough. The empty bottle is left on a hall table as Billy swipes the keycard in the lock.  
  
“I love Las Vegas,” Billy starts in a conversational tone as he pushes open the hotel room door. “I always have a good time.”  
  
The suite is as big as the run-down frat house the band used to live in. Hunter wanders in and looks around, slightly wide-eyed and feeling a little out of his depth.  _Wow._  He turns and grins at Billy and shares this observation. “Wow.”  
  
Billy locks the door and slips the creaking jacket from his shoulders. He hangs it on the doorknob and moves forward to hold his hot mouth near Hunter’s ear. “How drunk are you?”  
  
Involuntarily, Hunter shivers. “Drunk enough,” he assures. “But not too.”  
  
Billy smirks. “You wanna fuck?” It’s a mere formality to ask, but he does it anyway.  
  
 _Hell yeah!_  Hunter scoffs. “Hell yeah!”  
  
Billy releases Hunter and steps around him. He starts toward the bed and undresses as he goes: toes off his boots, yanks his shirt over his head, opens his pants and lets them slip just to the curve of his ass. He glances at Hunter over one muscled shoulder. “No need for niceties, eh? You just want a shag?”  
  
Feet move forward and Hunter stumbles on them, then follows. His hands go to his pants and he realizes—with one of the sudden epiphanies that only occur when you’re drunk—that they weren’t fully closed. He’s hard and it doesn’t take much to free his cock. Hunter wraps his fingers around the stiff flesh and stares down at it for a moment. Huh. He looks up. Yeah. “Yeah.”  
  
Up on the bed, Billy has the tight pants yanked down to his thighs. He curls his fingers around the top edge of the headboard and spreads his legs as wide as the pants will allow. He shoots a look at Hunter, then lowers his head. “Let’s go. Lube’s on the table if you’re worried, but I don’t need it.”  
  
Groaning, Hunter climbs up on the bed and settles between Billy’s legs. He sets one hand on Billy’s bare hip to steady himself and uses the other to guide his cock toward the hot cleft of Billy’s ass. His vision swims. He understands just how hard he is and just how turned on by all of this he is, and most of the humor leaves him. The head of his cock nudges against the tight, trembling pucker of Billy Idol’s asshole and he pushes in.  
  
Billy hisses. “Is that all you got?”  
  
Hunter doesn’t stop until he’s fully sheathed. It’s slow, steady pressure, and then stillness.  
  
Arching, Billy forces Hunter to move inside him. He groans. “Yeah. Just like that. Harder.”  
  
The ripple of muscle around his cock feels so good. Hunter uses both hands to grip Billy’s hips. He looks down and watches himself pull out of Billy’s body. Then he snaps his hips and slams the whole hard length of his cock in.  
  
Billy’s hands tighten around the edge of the headboard and he growls in frustration. He pushes back to meet Hunter’s hips and twists a little. “Come on! Harder!”  
  
Hunter draws his hips back again and watches his cock slide from between the cheeks of Billy’s ass. His hips become pistons, slamming his cock into Billy, pulling it out, slamming it in, pulling it out. Each thrust comes with more force than the last, and each elicits a sound louder than the last. Throaty, gravelly grunts and the occasional expletive punctuate the monotony of the smacking sounds made by flesh hitting flesh.   
  
It’s beastly. Animalistic. Primitive. Hunter shifts his angle and pumps harder. He’s humping. He’s fucking. He slams in fully and feels the tingles prickling his fingertips and scalp and toes. It’s so much better like this, when he’s just drunk enough to enjoy it. When he doesn’t think about anything but burying himself in the tight heat over and over again. When all that matters is…  
  
The inarticulate scream Billy lets go as he spasms surprises Hunter into twisting his hips as he snaps them forward. He looks down and watches the dance of muscle in Billy’s back and feels the convulsions wrack his own body as they spread through Billy’s.  
  
Hey, he came…  
  
His own orgasm builds through his body and shocks him into screaming when it seems to explode straight from his asshole and through his dick. A few more desperate, uncontrolled pumps of his spastic cock, and he’s staring wide-eyed at his limp dick slipping out of the stretched ass it just filled.  
  
 _Wow…_  
  
Billy forces Hunter back and kneels. He tugs his pants up over his ass, and turns. He’s panting, sweat has plastered a few platinum locks to his creased forehead, and there’s a wide and satisfied grin on his aged face.   
  
“Thanks, man. That was just what I needed.” 


End file.
